Ever Defiant
by Duffman18
Summary: In the 61st millennium, the wars are almost over. Mankind is breathing its last, and only isolated pockets of resistance remain alive. One of these is the once prosperous, Imperium Novus. But there is one last plan they can enact, one last, desperate chance to change everything. None involved have hope of its success, but even so they remain ever defiant.


_Author's note: I do not own Warhammer 40k in any way, and am not profiting from this story. Some of this story's background is based on the story "The Shape of the Nightmare to Come by LordLucan which can be found here: /wiki/Story:The_Shape_Of_The_Nightmare_To_Come_50k. You do not need to read that story to understand this one, but this story may contain some spoilers for his. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the story._

**Ever Defiant  
**

It is the 61st millennium, and humanity has almost breathed its last. In the twenty thousand years since the death of the Emperor, innumerable threats held back by the might and unity of the Imperium of Man had been given free reign over the galaxy. Alien horrors from the darkest depths of space, rampaged through human space devouring and destroying all in their way. The legions of Chaos burst forth from the Eye of Terror and embarked on an orgy of bloodletting and slaughter in the name of their dark gods.

A new god of Chaos had arisen from the ruins of the Emperor and embarked on its own crusade for dominance over all. Even the return of some of mankind's greatest heroes could not stop the inevitable fate of man, only slow its progress. Now, only small, isolated bastions of mankind remain across the galaxy, each fearing that they are truly the last of their kind remaining.

One such bastion was the so-called "Imperium Novus" or New Imperium. Long an example of human-xeno cooperation, their formerly optimistic spirit had been broken over the course of twenty millennia of pain, war, and suffering. But in the pain of loss came a new ideology, and in their certainty of mankind's death came a plan for one last act of defiance against a universe that had long stopped caring about the fate of man.

The light shining from the great pits of Ankora, throneworld of the Imperium Novus, was great and terrible. Their radiance illuminated the planet's once great cities in a ghastly spectacle, even as the haze of their multi-colored smoke choked the skies. But it was the screams that visitors would find the worst. The fires burning in the pits were fueled by the deaths of countless thousands of psykers. Their death cries and agonizing screams rose up in an unholy chorus that wailed endlessly day and night.

Standing above one of the largest pits was Gabriel Alteveer. The emperor of the Imperium Novus, Alteveer had been reduced to a shadow of the man he once was. He stood just over six feet tall, and wore ragged robes over power armor that had seen some obvious wear. Beside him stood a small group of advisors and allies. Chief among them was Archmagos Kirios of the Adeptus Mechanicus, his blood-red robes swirling around him in the slight wind. His body was almost completely mechanical. The magos had four eyes that glowed with a soft, blue light and almost a dozen mechadendrites sprouting from the back of his 8 foot tall form.

"My lord, the device has been completed. It's completion has taken the remainder of our stockpiles, and consumed the lives of more than half my staff. We may never be able to recover such great losses."

"We will never have to magos. Mankind is spiraling toward utter oblivion, but we have the tools now to ensure that we go down fighting. Do you have the device with you?"

The magos nodded, gesturing to a number of his surviving functionaries. A group of heavily armed Skitarri warriors, their armor pockmarked and worn, produced a massive container. The box itself was made from adamantium meters thick, and was covered with dozens of psychic runes to ward away the foul servants of Chaos. With a thought, the magos' mechadendrites slipped into the 12 data ports the container possessed.

Lines of code flashed by on digital readouts faster than the human eye could see, as Kirios entered the series of codes needed to unlock the container. Thirty seconds passed before the readouts flashed green, and the upper half of the box slid open with a slight, pneumatic hiss. Reaching gingerly within, Kirios produced the device that the Imperium Novus had spent so much time on constructing.

It was a metal cylinder that would just fit into Alteveer's hand. However what distinguished it was the runic designs etched into it. Some were similar to the wards covering the device's container, but others were very different and pulsed with unnatural energies. Just within the center of the cylinder was a pulsing sphere of shifting light and color. Some of the others gathered around the device actively recoiled from it, struck by warp-spawned wrongness emanating from the cylinder.

Seneschal Thornburg addressed the emperor in a hesitant voice.

"My lord, we can still turn back. Such a creation is bound to be temperamental, regardless of the Magos' genius. Would it not be better to turn such power towards rebuilding what we can?" Gabriel looked at the figure with a cold, unfeeling gaze.

"Your concerns are noted, but there is nothing left for any of us here my friend. Rebuilding only to have our cities destroyed once more is no life; it is only the beginning of the end. This is our only remaining option." With that he turned back to Kirios.

"Magos, how long will it take to absorb the last of the souls into the Conduit?"

"At the rate of transfer and sacrifice, all remaining souls will be absorbed into the Conduit in a matter of minutes. At this rate, we can begin the transference ritual whenever you wish."

Gabriel nodded.

"Then we should begin immediately. Sacrifice on such a scale has not been done since the heyday of the Ophelian Imperium, and the longer we delay the greater the chance of discovery by our enemies."

"I will alert our remaining psykers then. All shall be ready within the hour."

"Excellent."

Defiance Square had once been a beautiful location. Spiraling hive spires filled with both human and alien architecture, great monuments to culture and art standing tall alongside towering defensive installations. Now it was vast, open space with the many buildings once present having long since been demolished to make room for what was now occurring.

A ritual circle took up the whole of Defiance Square, countless wards and runic markings embedded within each section of the circle. Standing around the circle was a group of fifty psykers, the remaining core of the Imperium Novus' psychic forces. Their eyes were turned up towards the smoke-covered heavens, chanting in perfect unison as their powers pooled together into the ritual. In the center of the circle was Alteveer, the Conduit clenched firmly in his hand. Magos Kirios stood just outside the circle, giving Alteveer a final instruction on the device's operation.

"Once the ritual is complete, the Conduit will be able to complete further transferences without another equivalent ritual. However, it will require immense power and souls in order to function. You may also be able use excess energy to boost your own psychic gifts at the expense of burning away gathered energy."

"Thank you Magos. I will make good use of the Conduit."

As their conversation ended, the chanting of the gathered psykers reached an ear-splitting crescendo and unnatural warp energies flared into being. The runic markings across the full length of the ritual circle flared to life, and the souls of the gathered psykers fled their bodies in time with them. As the souls of the Imperium's greatest remaining psykers entered into the Conduit, Alteveer felt a great tear open in the fabric of reality.

With a flash of his will the Conduit finally sprung into life, the souls of those gathered within burning in a great holocaust that surrounded him. The warp around him actively burned and recoiled from the psychic soulfire being summoned. Entering the warp rift before him, Alteveer increased the intensity of the blaze surrounding him, and sped towards his first destination: More than 20,000 years in the past.

**41****s****t**** Millennium: Hive Helsreach, Armageddon**

Reclusiarch Grimaldus, chaplain of the Black Templar space marine chapter, stood resolute within the Temple of the Emperor Ascendant within the hive city of Helsreach. The filthy greenskin hordes flowed like an unclean tide, overwhelming the resolute imperial guard forces defending the temple and the relics it contained. Only 35 of Grimaldus' marines remained standing, engaging in frantic melee as bolter rounds and las bolts tore holes in the temple walls. But even in the midst of the battle, the ground shook with every footstep as the Ork Gargant, _Godbreaker_, slowly made its way towards their position.

As Grimaldus fought on, he saw Emperor's Champion Bayard fall under the sheer weight of Ork firepower. With a scream of inarticulate rage, Grimaldus tore through the orks before him, his power maul cutting down an ork with every swing. Making his way towards the fallen champion, Grimaldus took up Bayard's wargear and presented it to another of his knights.

"In the name of the Emperor, you have been chosen as his Champion brother. Serve him well, and cut down his enemies."

"By His Will!"

Looking over the battle, Grimaldus could tell the orks would likely overwhelm them soon. Scowling, he sent a message to his remaining marines.

"The enemy seeks to spill our blood, and to defile this sacred temple of the God-Emperor! But we will not go quietly into His embrace! We shall only go to Him covered in the blood of His enemies!"

The battle continued to escalate, before Grimaldus detected a sudden drop in temperature throughout the temple.

"What is this?"

Grimaldus was soon given an answer in the most horrifying of ways. Reality began to distort, with the rules of time and physics thrown into disarray. Entire platoons of imperial guards moved faster than even Grimaldus could follow while others appeared to not even be moving at all. But even this was not the worst of what was to come.

As Grimaldus opened his mouth to shout an order to his marines, the world ripped apart at the seams. Unnatural energies poured from dozens of warp rifts, coalescing into a storm that ripped apart the forces of Ork and Imperial alike. The supports of the temple were shredded into nothingness, while in other areas they melted into superheated sludge.

Grimaldus felt the warp energies tearing at his soul as his holy wards burned with the strain of insulating him from the warp storm. He could feel the entire structure shuddering as the strain placed upon it by both the battle and the sudden warp storm ripping it apart at the seams.. The Reclusiarch struggled to make his way to the chapel, in an attempt to preserve the sacred relics kept there from being destroyed or tainted by the touch of the warp. Behind him, the walls and ceiling began to fall apart as large numbers of the opposing armies were crushed under the weight of falling debris.

As the temple feel to ruin around him, Grimaldus crawled out of the broken chapel into the smoke-wreathed sunlight. Gazing in anger and grief at the site of the fallen temples and his lost brothers, he saw a single figure standing tall in the center of the now-dissipated warp storm.

"Identify yourself," roared Grimaldus, reaching even now for his great maul. The figure turned towards him, his ragged cloak shifting aside to reveal a body covered in power armor.

"I am Gabriel Alteveer of the Imperium Novus, and I bring with me a message of doom."


End file.
